“Maybetoo much energy,” Paige muttered. They turned from the bear pen and headedtoward the wolves.
Gwennleaned over the railing. “What do you mean?”
“Oh,just … I don’t know. You and Henry have been together longer than Adrian andme. How’s—do you still, you know, enjoy sex? Like you did in the beginning?”
Gwennlet out a hearty laugh. “If Henry had his way, we’d ‘enjoy’ as much sex, ormore, than we did in the beginning. It’s not that I don’t like it, but with thekids and all, it’s more of a challenge to be ready to go every time he is,which is pretty much twenty-four-seven.”
Silencehung between them. “So I take it things between you and Adrian have cooled?”Gwenn asked. “Is it because he’s gone all the time?”
“Idon’t know. You’d think absence would make him that much hotter for me everytime he gets back from a trip, but lately … When we were first dating, he toldme one of the things he liked about me was that my switch was always flipped to‘on.’”
“Thenaccording to every man I know, you’re the ideal woman,” Gwenn chuckled.
Paige’smouth curved into a half-smile.
Gwennrested her hand on Paige’s arm. “And? What else did he like?”
“Hesaid I was smart, driven. But sometimes it’s like he thinks I’m too smart,and he has to prove who’s smarter.”
“He’sprobably just in a phase. He’s got a lot on his plate. Have you talked to him?”
“No. Ihate to rock the boat when he is in town. We have so little timetogether as it is.” Paige pulled in a breath and released it. “Maybe it’sbecause I’ve been so consumed with my business. It’s a kick, you know,when things are going well, but it takes a lot of my time and focus. Maybe hefeels neglected.”
“Possibly.Men are basically large children, just with more hair.”
Paigelet out a little laugh. “What am I going to do without you, girlfriend?”
“You’llcall me and text a lot.”
“But Iwon’t be able to do this.” Paige wrapped her arms around Gwenn’s shoulders andhugged her tight.
CHAPTER 3
Free Fallin’
Beckett scanned the holding cell as the metal door closed behindhim with a heavy clang. A shudder rolled through him. He took in windowless,whitewashed concrete-block walls, a long bench where another lucky guestsprawled, and a stainless steel toilet dominating one side of the cell like agoddamn throne. If only the circumstance were so royal.
He’dbeen through this drill a few times before—an unfortunate outcome of a goodtime gone too far—though it had never gone as far as putting a girl in thehospital. Nor did it make being here any less chilling.
Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.
He tooka seat on the cold concrete bench as far from his cellmate as possible. The guyreeked of liquor and, with an arm flung over his eyes, was probably out for awhile. Not that Beckett smelled any better. For now, he was essentially alone,which was, no lie, a bright spot in this cluster-fuck. There could’ve been tenother guys pressed together in here, stinking up the claustrophobia-inducingspace.
Howlong before he got sprung? Jesus, the call to Coach had been painful to make,though not as hard as dialing 911 to report an unconscious girl whose nameBeckett didn’t know and whose address was as big a mystery. He’d covered herand tried to warm her up until the paramedics finally arrived and took over. Goodthing you called when you did, Mr. Miller. Any longer and she might not be withus.
Yeah,he was a real prince.
Notlong after the EMTs had shown up, the cops joined the party and decided Beckettshould take a ride with them. By then, all visible traces of the cocaine hadbeen wiped clean, and he’d made his call to Coach. If Coach ever spoke to himagain, it would be a miracle. It would also be a miracle if the girl made it.Beckett bowed his head and begged for that miracle, praying to a god who didn’tknow him.
He’dnever been religious, but as his cellmate stirred, turned his head, and pukedon the grimy floor, Beckett sent up a second plea—one for redemption he didn’tdeserve.
Godmight have been listening in because, an hour later, Coach was speakingto Beckett again. Through clenched teeth. Beside the lawyer he’d rousted to getBeckett’s stupid ass out of jail.
“Youdidn’t consent to a drug test, right?” the attorney grumbled. Looking asrumpled as Beckett felt, the guy gave him a sharp look that broadcast what afucking idiot he thought Beckett was.
“No,sir. I followed Coach’s instructions.”
“The onlysmart thing you did tonight, Miller,” Coach growled.
“Anynews about the girl?” asked Beckett. Please say she’ll be okay.
“Notyet.”
Theattorney took off, and Beckett followed Coach into a cab, sitting alone in theback while Coach grabbed the front seat. Beckett studied the man’s crooked-noseprofile. Coach Marty LeBrun—a guy Beckett had known since playing in the UnitedStates Hockey League and respected a hell of a lot—had been responsible forsaving his career three years ago when he’d lobbied for Beckett to join theBlizzard in Denver. The LA Kings—the team Beckett had been with sincegraduating from the University of Denver, had served as assistant captain, andhad helped win a Stanley Cup—had kicked him to the curb. You’ve become aliability to the team, Miller. We can’t afford your lifestyle anymore, andfrankly, neither can you if you want to continue playing in the NHL.
Noother team had wanted Beckett, even though he could still play like amotherfucker. So just shy of turning twenty-nine, he’d become property of theBlizzard, the laughingstock of the league—a mishmash of broken-down veteransand pimply faced kids.
Threeyears later, the trade still stung; that the Kings had won their second Cupafter he was traded only ground glass into the wound. The sole upside had beenMarty LeBrun, who’d wanted Beckett on board to help mold the young players. Youcan still play like hell, Miller, and I want that to rub off on the kids. WhatI don’t want rubbing off is your off-ice behavior. Quit acting like a frat boy.
Shit.Beckett hadn’t even gotten that right.
The cabdropped them in front of the hotel, and Coach walked Beckett to his room. AsBeckett was
